


I Prithee, Knot

by The_Amarathine_Carrion



Series: Omega Sylvain Week 2020 [6]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alpha Ferdinand, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Knotting, M/M, Omega Sylvain, Public Sex, Rare Pairings, Sylvain Jose Gautier Being An Idiot, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:54:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24060172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Amarathine_Carrion/pseuds/The_Amarathine_Carrion
Summary: Sylvain learns a lesson about the consequences of his actions when a certain knotty situation goes wrong.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Omega Sylvain Week 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1728082
Comments: 8
Kudos: 72
Collections: Omega Sylvain Week





	I Prithee, Knot

**Author's Note:**

> Omega Sylvain Week day 6 - prompt: public

As to just how Ferdinand found himself in this situation, bent over his lover like an animate bridge—tangerine tresses licking the arch of Sylvain’s back like flames reaching for their scarlet origins—he could not say. He also would not pretend that he did not adore it.

The war council meeting was set to begin in fifteen minutes nine minutes ago. Sylvain had come to him then—interrupted him while he was perusing a map of Gronder field— prepared to do whatever it took to entice him. 

Very little, was the answer, as it went, for as soon as his mate so much as leaned in to kiss him, Ferdinand lost track of the minute details. Until the moment he found himself fully sheathed inside Sylvain, he swore he was held captivated— as if he were in a dream.

Now, his sanity is returning— clarity revealing his surroundings. A large hourglass tracked their progression from little more than a foot away where Sylvain was pressed to the handsome oak table. Important documents were flung about, creeping closer to the edge, threatening to fall by each thrust of Ferdinand’s powerful thighs. He should not tempt fate by slowing the roll of his hips to draw them away from their peak. He should not reach forward to pry his mate’s lips apart so as to savor the sweet sounds he made that could lead curious ears to follow their coupling. He should not even have allowed Sylvain to convince him to take their pleasure where at any time someone could arrive early and risk being discovered.

He should not have, but he does, encouraging Sylvain’s urgency further by brushing against that spot he spends the better part of their lovemaking begging for. 

_ “F..fuck,”  _ Sylvain chokes on the expletive.  _ “Harder, baby come on…” _

It was difficult to deny his love when he looked like this— wanton face turned to the side to lay just over his folded forearms, eyelashes fluttering some secret message which their instincts leapt to respond. Sylvain’s hips wiggle in an attempt to take more of him as Ferdinand pauses to admire the shape of his body, marveling at how well they fit together. 

It was difficult to deny him, but somehow Ferdinand manages.

“Impatient.” He tuts, squeezing the taut flesh of Sylvain’s ass and spreading it to watch his cock as it slid in and out of his lover’s perfect heat. The slick that made such an action effortless was dripping down their legs, sure to cause a mess, but he couldn’t find the proper spark of concern to care. Caution evaded him at the present, enamored as he was by the sight, smell, and sensation of his paramour writhing from the effort of visceral restraint.

_ “Come on, come on…” _ Sylvain pants, eyes glazed over— heavy with desire. “I know you’re close too… I can feel your knot pushing against me...want it inside.”

Thighs that normally sustain hours of battle on horseback are ready to buckle after ten minutes of Ferdinand lingering between them. It’s rather gratifying, and five years ago he would have let such information inflate him. Now, however, it only fills his heart with warmth and a pride that expressed itself in longing to fulfill his partner’s appetite— instead of impulsive foolishness.

“You are not even in heat.” He reminds Sylvain, half in reprimand, half in amusement, and fully in lust. “Yet, you would still demand such an indecent thing from me, considering where we are?”

He leans forward, canting his hips up to bury himself deep, and noses against the back of Sylvain’s sweaty neck. Soft kisses pepper the area where fading marks serve as a constant temptation for Ferdinand to bed him again, as well as a warning for all who are around to witness it when he happens to shed his armor. Sylvain whines and pushes back—as if there was anywhere he could go— but Ferdinand merely chuckles, holding him still while he retreats a few inches before sliding in again—gently—at the exact tempo he’s discovered will taunt his mate into a frenzy. 

He proceeds to tease around Sylvain’s front entrance, dipping inside with only one finger while circling the nub outside with his thumb.

“I have missed you, my sun.” Ferdinand breathes into the parting of his shoulder blade. His fingers press deeper and harder while he continues to take his time opening Sylvain’s ass with his cock. “Let me show you how much.” 

“ _Missed you_.” Sylvain echoes in a groan and clenches around the finger, reaching back to sink all the way down to Ferdinand’s base. ”Need to feel you.” 

Ferdinand adds another finger, curling up to rub against the front of his walls, simply pressing hard on his nub now while he fucks into him firmly. The smack of skin is loud, but intermittent, and it gives Ferdinand plenty of time in-between to tell Sylvain exactly how good  _ he _ feels.

Sylvain’s fists tighten. He raises his head with a frustrated sigh, seeking Ferdinand’s mouth, which remains over his shoulder just beyond his reach. “Should have known you’d  _ tease...”  _ The effect of his complaint is lessened with the unmistakable tinge of an oncoming moan. “If you don’t hurry, we’ll get caught.”

It’s far from convincing. Sylvain could sound as sullen or as coy as he wanted, but Ferdinand had memorized the truthful call of his body over the sly words he wove to wrangle control. He couldn’t trick him into sympathy anymore.

Ferdinand eyes the hourglass again— the true master of their affair. “It was you who teased first, my love.” He starts a steadier rhythm, humming in approval when Sylvain’s walls tighten in response. “I am only returning the favor.” 

_“Please...”_ Sylvain begins another round of bartering. Sincerity, this time. “Just want to come...” He bounces against Ferdinand’s knot with an increased desperation, and Ferdinand allows it. _“Before they do.”_

Sylvain is divine in his movements, dancing within his grasp as if he was born directly of the Goddess. Ferdinand smooths his furrowed brow with a thumb, studying him in the way he imagines Lysethia studies S ranked reason while Lorenz studies her over a cup of sweet apple blend, preparing another slice of decadent chocolate cake. His lover’s skin ripples where they are connected, like the waves of the lake that rouse Linhardt from his drowsiness, quicker than Caspar’s fists can rush to raise the hook in celebration of the catch. Sylvain’s slurred syllables, his determined exchange of jumbled dialogue, the rise and fall of intonation in concurrence with his chest, all remind Ferdinand of Petra waking early to review hymns in the cathedral hours before choir practice, so that the next time Dorothea passes she may join her in song. 

To observe his own mate, so intimate—so earnest for their completion—is pushing Ferdinand’s thoughts past its usual poetry— bordering on sacrilegious.  _ Oh, how beautiful this moment is. _

“Come then, my darling.” He croons, meeting Sylvain’s fervent thrusts. He abandons the motions of his hand in favor of gripping onto the edge of the table, smacking hard into his ass. The grains of sand are now almost imperceptible through the vibrating glass. “You know I would never refuse such a request.” 

Sylvain switches suddenly from his harsh but steady rocking to crash into Ferdinand, arching up so hard he forces the Alpha to go with him. He grinds on the knot that has been a persistent source of temptation and within seconds it is sucked into his greedy hole where it remains even after Sylvain is finished coaxing every last bit of their orgasms out. 

It was cleverly executed, Ferdinand will admit. Sylvain waited until the perfect moment to surprise him, even throwing him off with what he assumed was a weak argument instead of a lure into a false sense of domination. Long past were the days of his mate trying to overpower him from the onset. 

_ “Gotcha babe… _ ohhh, you should have seen your face _.. _ . _ ” _

Sylvain’s breathing is still a bit ragged as he smiles cockily over his shoulder, now mostly vertical and many inches taller. He always believes he has the upper hand, but Ferdinand knows better and he does not need to acknowledge the inaccuracy or the attitude. Sylvain will soon gather his consequences without any interference from him.

Instead of an immediate verbal response, Ferdinand pulls the chair from behind them as close as he can. He pushes Sylvain forward again after a quick adjustment of their clothes, speaking stoically just beyond the Omega’s ear while he begins to collect the materials that went astray as best as he can.

“Yes, you have obtained what you were searching for. We are stuck here, together now, and the meeting is about to start. So, as you were saying earlier, we should hurry to make ourselves presentable— before they come.”

The scuffle of armor and feet carrying the many voices approaching seems to hammer the mistake into reality. Sylvain’s eyes widen. He rushes to arrange the papers on the table to appear as if they weren’t in peril of crumpling or tearing in the tension of his hands.

The doorknob rattles. Ferdinand unclasps the cloak hanging from his shoulders and drapes it over Sylvain, concealing the place where they are tied. He sends a prayer of thanks to the Goddess he will conveniently pretend he did not forget in the height of his ecstasy that he remembered to lock it. 

“Well, you have made your bed, so to say.” He murmurs against his mate’s throat, tasting the turmoil in his sweat. “Now, you must lie in it.” 

He’s able to pull Sylvain into his lap mere moments before Gilbert enters with the rest of the war council cluttering behind him. Ferdinand waves enthusiastically and snuggles closer against Sylvain, who he can feel tensing despite the friendly jabs he offers to the friends that file in to sit oblivious at their side.

He’s mostly ignored. Ferdinand counts himself lucky at present that his mate has a reputation for being such an obnoxious flirt. He’s aware, of course, that he has an exuberant reputation of his own, so it is no surprise that their behavior is not taken as outlandish.

It should also be of no surprise that he would take the opportunity for a little revenge when it presents itself.

“Sylvain. Are you seriously so attached to that pretentious fool that you can’t find your own chair?” Felix grumbles, seated to their left and already looking upset that he had to attend any meeting that involved Dimitri and his father in the same room. His eyes are attuned elsewhere, but Ferdinand still feels Sylvain quiver around his knot, which pulses in return, filling him further. 

Sylvain scratches his head, turning his groan of pleasure into one resembling playfulness. He turns toward Felix with a well practiced grimace—like a jester—pulling Ferdinand’s arms tighter around him.

“Jealous, Felix?” He wags his eyebrows suggestively, indicating toward Dimitri.  _ Ah yes _ , the tension of those two could slice clean through the center of the battlefield at Gronder. Felix growls a warning— one that Sylvain receives with no additional threat. The Fraldarius heir was not one well suited for most conversations. Oh well, at least Dimitri seemed compatible with that trait as of now. This could bode well.

“Worry not, Felix!” Ferdinand assures the other Alpha, placing his head at the crook of Sylvain’s neck and pressing his mate’s body down ever so slightly more. The Omega’s breath hitches, but otherwise gives no indication that anything has happened. It is fine. He was only just beginning to toy with him, after all. “I shall help you to secure the perfect mate when I take the throne from Edelgard!” 

“Don’t bother.” Felix flatlines. “I don’t need help with something like that. Especially from you.” 

Ferdinand feigns injury, (perhaps it is not  _ completely _ an act) then proceeds to nuzzle Sylvain’s neck at their bonding point, saturating his face, and the surrounding air, with his lover’s sweet scent.

“Disgusting.” Felix wrinkles his nose. His fingers twitch by one of the swords strapped to his side. “Keep it up and I’ll force you to leave.”

“Felix, leave them alone! They’re just happy to be with each other.” Annette scolds from the chair opposite him. She giggles at them, and though Sylvain smiles back, Ferdinand cannot help but to notice the white strain at the beds of his fingernails, where they are close to piercing his thigh. “It’s sweet to see them still so in love…” She tries to continue her thoughts, trailing off when Gilbert clears his throat. The weathered knight proceeds to bore them all from his very first sentence with his slow, methodical, drawl.

Felix is, unsurprisingly, disinterested in continuing any banter once the council officially begins. Sylvain relaxes visibly, despite the droll atmosphere, and—in absence of any other attention—soon becomes very antsy on his knot. Ferdinand slides his hands up slowly to cup at Sylvain’s chest, watching carefully to ensure that none of the council members are looking directly at them— then squeezes.

Sylvain rises a little in surprise, restraining the urge to whip his head around. A sudden flush breaks out across his cheeks. “ _ Ferdinand… _ ” He whispers, as if he is truly afraid; if he is, there is a discussion that will need to be held to explain why he twitches so much from a single action, as well as the damp presence of something sticky leaking through the front of his smalls to dribble down his thigh.

It’s utterly delightful to know he is the cause of such reactions. 

“What is it, my love?” He taunts—with virtuous inflection—into Sylvain’s ear, enjoying the squirm he receives in return. “Is this not what you wanted?

“You know it’s not.” Sylvain’s tone is even, but Ferdinand recognizes the uncertainty in it— the fear. There should be neither. He is perfectly capable of concealing their pleasure from the rest of the table. Sylvain knows to trust him in this.

No one is listening, to either them  _ or _ Gilbert, all occupied by their own personal tasks. It just so happens that tormenting Sylvain is his.

“I prithee, how else shall I please you then?” The superfluous mockery is softened by a single kiss applied to the back of Sylvain’s neck. He rolls a nipple between his fingers just as Ingrid rolls her pen back and forth across a document she must have read five times by now. Rodrigue shakes his head at something Gilbert mentions, but as for what happens after that he cannot say. Ferdinand’s vision is obscured by red: Sylvain’s hair, the high hormonal rouge of his cheekbones, his pouty lips— all demanding attention.

He cannot kiss him, of course, not in the way he would like to. He cannot pull his hair to the side and ravish Sylvain’s throat exactly as he deserves. However, seeing as there is no one occupying the chairs to their right before the table curves around, there is one thing he can, and fully intends, to do. 

Ferdinand’s fingers find a favorite spot on Sylvain’s scalp. It is a silent command they have worked out from the many situations over the years where it was not wise to ask aloud for the other’s focus. Sylvain shivers and rolls eager eyes sideways to meet the golden ichor of his Alpha’s unrepentant gaze. Liquid heat already pools like silk in Ferdinand’s stomach at the obedient expression.

“Adjust my cloak more to your left.” 

Sylvain does, shifting forward like nothing transpired, merely appearing as bored as the rest of them. The back of his shoulder turns toward Felix, who is mouthing wordlessly over Dorothea’s head, staring unfocused daggers straight into the garish painting there. The comb she drags through the ends of her luxurious hair clacks when it bumps the coating of the table; the sapphire gem in the center gleams as it twists. 

Ferdinand notes these as helpful distractions, silently hoisting Sylvain’s hip into a proper hold on the outside of the cloak facing Felix. Another quick roll of the nipple from the hand underneath the cloak comes faster than he can think it through—an instinctual reminder of who is in charge—though neither of them had, of course, forgotten; really he just could not help but to take a moment to worship such a lovely body. It was enough to leave anyone—Alpha, Beta, Omega—breathless. Sometimes he scarcely believed he had the privilege of sharing in it.

The hand travels, dragging across muscles and ribs, slowly attuning itself to the cadence of Sylvain’s breaths. It picks up when and where his lungs falter, paying extra care to the places where nerves split open to burn, drifting under his shirt, turning over to press nails against skin and back again— to  _ pinch  _ and  _ dig  _ and  _ scratch. _

The small moans that die halfway in Sylvain’s throat are felt more than heard. Ferdinand tips his head toward the table to chase them. It takes so much restraint, he knows, for his love to remain still like this. He is impressed by how well Sylvain has managed to conceal his breathing, though the flush of his face is too bright and may soon attract suspicion. If Gilbert were a more perceptive man, he would break away from the current quandary of provisions Ferdinand is certain Dimitri has scraped the back of his gauntlets over in agitation twice now.

“Will this suffice, my darling?” Ferdinand purrs through a smile, soothing the blistering skin of Sylvain’s abdomen, curling his fingers around the hairs low just before his smalls. “Or, do you need more of me?”

It is as if the question flips a switch and the savanna is suddenly flooded with wildfire. An audible gasp slips through the fortress of Sylvain’s facade. His thighs wobble like jelly, parting more, fanning out as he raises his hips to seek the fingers that will accommodate his greed. Ferdinand is forced to scoot the chair forward to reform the disturbance.

Mercedes pauses halfway through braiding a piece of Annette’s hair to cast them a knowing look. Annette, in turn, is looking at  _ her  _ with a rather honest expression— annoyed that she has stopped her project even temporarily to consider another, and just a touch lovelorn. 

_ “Didn’t mean to.”  _ Sylvain’s apology is quiet and Ferdinand is forced to adjust them again to hear it, practically bending his lover’s upper body over the table when his chin takes to his shoulder. Sylvain’s ass presses harder and deeper against him, and all of the wonderful sensations the new position is doing to his knot makes him bite his own lip to prevent a vocal admission. Though he is already snug inside him, Ferdinand ardently wishes they could leave without garnering attention, and retire to any other room to wait until he softens so he can take Sylvain once more.

It seems his mate shares similar thoughts. Sylvain’s hand falls under the table to search for Ferdinand’s, pressing down on top of it to move them together, undoing his pants first, then slipping into his smalls. 

_ “Don’t stop.” _

The two words barely have time to register in Ferdinand’s ears before they are overtaken by the swish of his cloak. Sylvain’s hand has likewise left its charge. The pads of his fingers rest alone just above Sylvain’s nub— tempted further south by the rising heat.

“Of course not.” He promises, daring to place a kiss just behind Sylvain’s ear. “I would not even dream of denying such a candid invitation.” 

Ferdinand scopes the battlefield once more, starting with soft strokes. Sylvain is already slippery and his fingers find themselves thoroughly coated with slick by the completion of his first round. The pulse of his heat is so strong that the vibration interrupts him, trying to tug them to the place where they both long to be buried. Knowing how far into lust his love has fallen from his soft, secret touches nearly drives Ferdinand to madness. He cannot prevent a small shiver and a moan of admiration that he muffles in the Omega’s neck. 

“You are utterly magnificent, my darling.” He praises,  _ relishing  _ the hitches in Sylvain’s inhales and the curses between them that go unspoken. “Will you come again for me?”

“ _ Yes.”  _ Sylvain immediately rasps, looking over his shoulder to plead with him. His eyes can hardly sustain the slow blinks he offers through half-open eyes as Ferdinand plays with him, careful not to curl or slide his fingers in so quickly that he would elicit a sound. What a marvelous sight he makes, already so close to the edge. If Ferdinand were not already hard and hot within him, this certainly would have brought him there.

“My knot is not enough, it seems.” He should not continue to whisper like this. Such a thing was unnecessary when Sylvain was so close to relief. Yet, he could not restrain his words from softly spilling forth. He was too eager to see him climax again. “You are always seeking more.” 

Sylvain nods drowsily, too drunk off of his impending orgasm to pay his stings any mind. Linhardt had been frozen in a near mirror image of lethargy since the conception of the meeting, unlucky to have been placed diagonally by Dedue, far away from the influence of his boisterous blue-haired mate. 

It would not do for Sylvain to merely close his eyes and let the pleasure roll over him. No. Ferdinand was determined to ensure this was a lesson to remember.

His thumb finds the nub again to flick it. Ferdinand’s hips rise, following the jolt of Sylvain’s body he knew to prepare for, pressing his knot as deep as it can possibly be.

“Don’t…” Sylvain’s protest is weak. “ _ Shit..”  _ His body is prepared to give, thighs closing again, wobbling closer to Ferdinand’s wrist. Ferdinand curls his fingers in response, coaxing the surge of Sylvain’s walls to suffocate them. His sigh comes hot and heady, lips just shy of the faded scar of his claim.

“I will not stop until you come. Was that not your command?” 

Sylvain squirms, likely forgetting how close Felix was to them, and scratches at the table, risking alerting others to their predicament. “ _ I..close..I’m..”  _ He babbles, digging his nails into his skin, exhaling heavily through his nose. Ferdinand calms him with a shush, wary eyes and ears thankfully reporting that Dimitri was currently in a deep heated discussion with Caspar that looked to be rising to a full scale argument. He could allow this to play out to his advantage.

“Will you come for me?” He pushes at Sylvain’s thighs, urging them open again, quickening his penetration. A small squirt of slick coats his palm. He presses it against Sylvain’s entrance, sliding in as far as he can go, and holds it firmly there, continuing to flutter his fingers. “There is no need to hold back. You know I will always protect you.”

Dimitri snarls something foul at Caspar that results in one or both of them knocking over a chair. The squeak of multiple people rising from their seats to stir the chaotic caldron of feral lion versus enraged chimpanzee would certainly cause Ferdinand to recoil in his usual setting, but right now, it is exactly what he needs. The clamor could not have come at a more perfect time.

He pulls Sylvain into a kiss, discarding the last shred of discretion that remained. Sylvain whines into his mouth, loud enough to send a shiver down the sides of his jaw. He humps downward, slamming desperately onto the palm that’s blocking his entrance. Everything about it is  _ delicious _ . It is foretelling the prize of a hard fought victory. 

“That’s it. Nobody is looking. They will not hear you as I will.” 

There is no longer a need to be silent, but his encouragement remains hushed anyway. Ferdinand tips Sylvain’s head to the side, kissing every inch of his neck and face that he can reach. The only person he spies in their vicinity anymore is Linhardt, finally slumped over in the full embrace of sleep.

Sylvain whimpers when he pulls away, shaking his head back and forth, not even looking in the direction of the commotion. Something that sounds like glass shatters, but Ferdinand’s eyes and ears and mouth heed only Sylvain.

“Let me feel you once more.” He demands. The pressure of his knot lessens as he softens, but it is not his own arousal he is concerned with now. Everything is about Sylvain at this moment. His turn would come later. Many turns, if he were to have his way— and everything about Sylvain’s utterly ravaged appearance tells him he will.

He adds a third finger to compensate for the missing stretch of his cock and it seems to be exactly what Sylvain was looking for. There’s no time for a warning. The only clue given is a single, strangled groan that waits to settle in but a second before another disaster hits.

Warm liquid leaks out over the plug of Ferdinand’s fingers, squelching around his palm. Sylvain sobs, his body locking up, yet also jerking so vigorously that he bangs it against the table. Ferdinand pulls them away and into a standing position as soon as he can, tucking himself back into his pants, spreading most of Sylvain’s slick and come into the expensive fabric. 

Caspar goes flying into a pillar in the very same moment.

Felix’s direct issue of a challenge to Dimitri rings out over the confusion. It is the only promise to rely on in a medley of lukewarm reconciliation. Navigating a path to victory in the midst of commotion— this is something Ferdinand is no stranger to. 

The gaggle of geese, minus Linhardt, surrounding the scene of the crime are easy to evade. Ferdinand does not even check to see if they notice him pulling a still dizzy Sylvain out into the hall just to immediately press him to the nearest wall. His nose is in the dip of Sylvain’s throat within the span of a single wheeze—eyes shut—allowing the river of Sylvain’s carefree laughter to nourish the creak of his bones. 

“I can’t believe you, the great  _ Ferdinand Von Aegir,  _ seriously just got me off in the middle of one of the most disastrous councils I’ve seen.” 

Sylvain’s hands stroke through his hair like the strands are strings of a harp. It is quite relaxing, regardless of where they are. Ferdinand joins him in laughter—in the lightness of being—while they are here, Ferdinand forgets.

He forgets five years of nights spent wallowing in recompense for the sins he committed during the day. He forgets five years worth of Edelgard’s shadow looping its noose by the hairs on the back of his neck. None of that matters now. Sylvain is angelic in his arms. The nightmare of fighting under the banner of Edelgard’s iron fist is forfeit. He is here—once again—he is home. 

**Author's Note:**

> I am on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thefriedpipes)! Come talk more about fe3h with me 🤗


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